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Best Bondage Erotica 2012

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INTRODUCTION:

TYING MEN UP: DOMINANT WOMEN STORM THE PAGES

I was surprised this year to see that, unlike with previous anthologies in this series, the overwhelming majority of stories submitted to Best Bondage Erotica 2012 involved women tying up and tormenting men. It was a theme I couldn’t ignore, and you will see it heavily represented in these pages. I’ve pondered why exactly that theme showed up at this time, and while I don’t have any firm conclusions, I can say that the range of scenarios you’ll find here showcase a wide range of ingenuity.

What I especially appreciate is that we get to see a variety of dominant women, some exacting a kind of (consensual) revenge, some giving eager men exactly what they deserve, as with the couple in Teresa Noelle Roberts’s Suffer for Me. She writes:

I began with his nipple.

When I caught it in between my long red fingernails, he braced himself for a twist, a cruel pinch. I could see in his wide, entreating eyes that he bothdp n=11 folio=xi ? feared and hoped for it.

Instead, I caressed first one then the other with all the delicacy I could muster, applying just enough pressure so it pleasured rather than tickled. Then I took one into my mouth, licking and sucking and teasing the little nub, nipping down enough to vary the kind of pleasure he experienced, but not enough to push it over into real pain.

This narrator, who we know only as Ma’am, is exploring the delight of being in charge, of plotting out what she will do to make Martin suffer, and it’s a delicious tale, one of many, of a woman coming into her own erotic power, with a willing, deserving man at her mercy.

And even though Terry in Giselle Renarde’s Dry Rub is not quite as eager a bondage participant as Martin, it’s clear that while he is not at first in on the plan, he too is getting off, in his own way. That is the beauty, to me, of bondage: when even what seems like a punishment can turn into a delightful, demanding and delicious torment, one you may not know why you like, but your body cannot lie. Instead, it’s Gina’s turn to enjoy the fact that she can have her husband any way she wants him. She still had a grip on his hair, and his face looked so pitiful in her hands that she almost wanted to laugh. He was desperate, poor boy, and she wouldn’t give in. Tonight he was a tool of her pleasure, nothing more.

Speaking of ingenuity, I couldn’t help but be impressed by the bold, gutsy, brilliant characters you’ll read about here who are so obsessed with bondage they’ll even tie themselves up to experience that delicious, chilling thrill. In Shoshanna Evers’s opening story Melting Ice, Amanda constructs a careful experiment in the art of self-bondage, one she’s been dreaming dp n=12 folio=xii ? about for years. She’d been so ready for this. The entire afternoon had been her foreplay.

In Parting Ways, Tenille Brown shows us that you don’t have to be the binder or the bondee to enjoy the sight of a man squirming and writhing. Anyone who’s been tied up and exulted in the thrilling frustration of it will relate when she writes, Derek shivered with the need to break free. He bit his bottom lip at the pleasure of being unable to.

While there is plenty of female domination in these pages, for those who want to read about women who delight in the submissive satisfaction of being trapped by a Dominant’s mind, there’s plenty of that here, too. In Kay Jaybee’s The Cupboard Under the Stairs, the not knowing what will happen next is all part of the fun. A fresh surge of uncertainty zipped through Kristi. She’d thought the blindfold was the change in routine. It seemed she was wrong. That love/hate relationship many subs feel is captured in Helen Sedgwick’s Cumaná when she writes, I didn’t know if I should be enjoying this, if I should make him stop, but I couldn’t, wouldn’t, the tight pinching on my nipples at once unbearable and intoxicating. Indeed, unbearable and intoxicating could also describe events in all of the stories in this naughty little book.

Bondage comes vividly alive in these twenty-four tales of everything from corsets to cling wrap, from couples dedicated to bondage to those just discovering its pleasures. You’ll find a range of stories from playful to perverse that I hope will give you some new ideas to try out—in your mind and beyond.

Rachel Kramer Bussel

New York City

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MELTING ICE

Shoshanna Evers

Amanda Scott’s hand trembled so much when she tried to unlock the front door to her townhouse that she missed the keyhole not once, but twice. The brown cardboard box, discreet in its anonymity, balanced precariously under her armpit on top of her Louis Vuitton bag.

She had taken the afternoon off work. In her excitement, she forgot to even pretend to sound sick when she left early. She hadn’t realized she wouldn’t want to go back to the office after the package arrived. She always had packages shipped to her office since she was never home to receive them, and had placed a lot of trust in the website she ordered from that their package would indeed be without identifying markers on it.

Amanda stepped inside and locked the door behind her, then hesitated. What if something went wrong? She unlocked it. Just in case.

The brown cardboard package felt so light. She set it down on the dining room table and took her coat off, barely able to dp n=14 folio=2 ? contain her excitement. Opening the box, she lifted the gleaming metal handcuffs out of their packaging. A rush of excitement went through her at the feel of the cold stainless steel in her hands.

She’d done so much research already, planning this out. If she wanted to experience her first self-bondage tonight, then she had some preparations to make.

There were two keys that came with the handcuffs. One she set aside—she’d use it to practice unlocking herself with. She carried the second key into the kitchen, where she opened the large stainless steel freezer door and peered inside. The ice-cube tray was full so she took a single cube out to make space. Hmmm, she thought as she held the ice in her hand. I wonder how long it takes a single cube to melt? Grabbing a bowl from the drying rack, she dropped the ice in and glanced at the clock. It was 1:36 p.m., and the beginning of her experiment.

Dropping one handcuff key into the empty spot in the ice-cube tray, she filled it with hot water from the tap, since she’d read that hot water, strangely enough, froze faster. And this water can’t freeze fast enough, she thought as she put it back in the freezer compartment and shut the gleaming silver door.

Taking the bowl containing the single ice cube into the living room, she sat on the couch and watched the ice. It hadn’t even begun to melt. How long would it take? Just the idea that it would be a while turned her on.

Because tonight, she was going to be handcuffed, unable to free herself, until the cube with the key in it melted. Her pussy clenched in anticipation.

While she waited for the handcuff key to freeze in the tray, she took the second key upstairs with the cuffs to practice.

She was so turned on that just walking made her clit rub against the seam in her pants, and she had to stop and take a deep, shaky breath. Save it for later, she told herself.

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There was a simple floral comforter on a queen-sized bed in the center of her bedroom, positioned to accentuate the feng shui of the space. She had paid handsomely for a beautiful wrought-iron bed frame with lots of decorative swirls, imagining how her future boyfriend would make use of it to tie her up.

But there was no boyfriend and hadn’t been for a long time. And when there was a man in the picture, somehow Amanda couldn’t quite find the courage to reveal her basest desires.

With self-bondage, there was no way out if things went wrong. No one to save her. No safewords to stop the game. She supposed that should have made her less interested in trying it out, but instead it made her even more turned on. The thought of being completely bound and truly helpless made her wet.

She took the cuffs to the bed and snapped one cuff around her wrist, shivering with excitement at the sound of the metal clicking into place, even though her other hand was still free and holding the key.

She pressed her wrists together, pretending both her hands were cuffed, and practiced using the key in that awkward position to unlock the cuffs and free herself. It was so simple she laughed.

Downstairs, she watched the clock, determined to wait two whole hours to make sure her ice was fully frozen around the key. In the meantime, the other ice cube she had set aside in a dish took one hour and forty-five minutes to melt completely. That was surprising—who knew it would take one measly cube so long to melt?

She kicked the thermostat up a few degrees. That way she’d be comfortable naked, and the ice would melt a bit faster. She wasn’t sure how much faster—but there was no time for another experiment. The key was frozen in the ice, and if she didn’t get to come now she thought she might die.

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Soon, she knew she’d have more than her fill of orgasms—because she was going to cuff herself to the bed with a vibrator tied to her. The thought alone was enough to make her panties damp. Plucking the cube with the key frozen dead set in the center out of its tray, she slipped the ice into a shallow custard dish and carried it upstairs to the bedroom, placing it by her pillow. The clock was ticking, the ice imperceptibly melting already.

Amanda stripped off her slacks and cotton button-down blouse, kicking off her low heels. Sitting tucked away in her underwear drawer was her favorite toy: a pink dildo with rolling beads in the perfect place, and an attached clit vibrator that looked like a bunny, the long bunny ears buzzing to life and the entire dildo rotating enticingly as she flicked on the wireless remote, checking the batteries. She shut it off. Save it, she thought. For the bondage.

There was no need for lube; she was so wet the length of the dildo slid inside her easily even as it stretched her. Next she pulled her tightest jeans over her naked cunt, trapping the vibrator in place against her flesh. Holding the grey wireless remote in her hand, she brought it with the handcuffs over to the bed.

The ice was still frozen, not even shimmering wet yet on the outer surface. Suddenly she was frightened. What if she was cuffed to the bed and she changed her mind, and wanted to be set free, but had no choice but to wait until the ice melted?

The thought was terrifying—and such a turn-on that she thought she might come right then, even with the vibrator off. The dildo in her pussy nudged her as she squirmed, and she smiled.

Amanda rechecked, one last time, that the key in the ice was in easy reach of her hands. She placed her cordless phone by her pillow as well, within reach, just in case she had to call the police or something. She’d never do so, of course, but she’d dp n=17 folio=5 ? done enough research to know that things could go wrong. She supposed she should call a friend to let him know he should check up on her in a few hours, but since she’d never done that before, the conversation was bound to be awkward. So that wasn’t going to happen.

It was time. Lying back across her floral comforter, she cuffed one wrist, pulled the other cuff through behind the iron bed frame and took a deep breath. The key was within reach, encased in ice. She tossed the second key she’d been practicing with across the room. It made a little sound when it hit something, probably her dresser. The remote to her vibrator was in her hand. Okay. Now.

She cuffed her other wrist, feeling the satisfying click as it snapped in place. And then she thumbed the remote to the vibrator, starting off by making the dildo inside her pussy slowly circle. It hit her G-spot perfectly and she gasped as it automatically rotated away, and then back again, pressing her G-spot once more. Then again.

She turned the vibrating bunny ears on low, moaning as it came to life, buzzing directly on her swollen clit.

She’d been so ready for this. The entire afternoon had been her foreplay. She thumbed the remote in her cuffed hand and pushed the vibrator to high, coming instantly, the orgasm pulsing through her body. She turned her head toward the pillow, thrashing, and screamed in ecstasy.

This was the moment, once she’d had her orgasm, that she usually called it quits.

She’d always loved the idea of being bound, forced to orgasm over and over again. It was her go-to fantasy, one that played out in her mind night after night. She’d often pretended, even going so far as to wear the very same vibrator in her with the same tight jeans over it, grasping the top of the headboard and dp n=18 folio=6 ? vowing to herself that she wouldn’t let go until the alarm she’d set went off.

She never made it more than a moment or so past the first orgasm, even if it had only been a few minutes. Feeling the vibrations against her overstimulated clit always inspired her to let go of the headboard, despite her best intentions, and tear her jeans off, turning off the vibrator.

But not tonight. Tonight, she wouldn’t give herself the option of backing down—because her hands were locked in place, and she’d only be able to free herself once the ice melted. She had to get rid of the remote before she changed her mind.

The moment the thought flitted through her mind, she dropped the remote behind the bed before she lost her courage. There was no way to reach it now. Hell. She probably should have turned the vibrations on low at least before doing that.

No way to go back in time. Nothing to do—but wait.

She realized she was holding her breath, her abdominal muscles clenched tight. It took all of her concentration to focus on breathing slowly in and out. Her belly relaxed and she let herself sink into the sensations assaulting her, teasing her, making her entire being feel centered around the tiny bundle of nerve endings in her clit. The dildo inside her thumped mercilessly against her G-spot, and she gasped as every muscle in her body tightened at once. She snapped her head forward, curling herself up as she rode the edge of her climax.

Another orgasm rushed through her, her pussy clamping hard on to the dildo inside her, and she bucked her hips.

Her clit felt rubbed raw, her insides thoroughly pounded by the rotation of the dildo. She moaned as the pleasure overtook her and looked over at the digital clock on her bedside table. It had only been twenty minutes. What if the ice really took an hour and forty-five minutes to melt?

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There was no way she could handle any more of this. The vibrations were too hard, too much—her body spasmed without reaching a climax. She cried out, no longer sure if it was from pleasure or frustration as she rode the edge of release. Surely she had hit her orgasm limit. The vibrating bunny ears on her clit were jangling her nerves, making her legs shake uncontrollably.

She gasped as another orgasm hit her hard. A gush of fluid covered her inner thighs. Had she wet herself? Panicked, she looked down at her jeans, which had a definite wet spot seeping through.

It’s not pee, silly, she realized. It’s come. She’d never come that hard in her life, never so hard that a stream of ejaculate drenched her. Being cuffed, at the mercy of a block of ice, made her so hot. But she was going to cheat a bit, because there was no way she could wait until the ice melted naturally.

She pulled herself up in the bed so her head was right next to her hands. Picking up the ice cube with the key in it, she popped it in her mouth. The cold shocked her senses, her mouth overwhelmed by the large cube on her tongue. Tentatively, she sucked.

And the ice began to melt in the heat of her mouth.

Thank goodness, she thought, sucking hard even as she bucked her hips wildly, alternating between trying to dislodge the vibrator and trying to come yet again. Now it was starting to hurt, the pain mingling with the pleasure to create an erotic sensation that left her breathless.

The ice was down to a sliver and she crunched, her teeth hitting metal, tangy on her tongue. She spat the key onto the pillow by her head and grasped it with her trembling fingers. It took longer than when she had practiced, but she finally freed herself.

Ripping her wet jeans off, she pulled the vibrator out of her dp n=20 folio=8 ? pussy and tossed it across the bed. It was still buzzing, hitting her comforter with a thwop. The clock said she’d been in bondage for the past thirty-four minutes—the most intense thirty-four minutes of her life.

She lay back on her pillow, her breath coming in shallow pants.

As intense as the experience had been, as scary as it had been, she had to admit being handcuffed was even more exciting than she ever could have imagined.

I should really punish myself, she thought, for cheating at my own game. Sucking on the ice cube was a definite no-no. Next time, she’d use a bigger block of ice. She might even drop a key into a plastic water bottle and freeze the whole thing before she handcuffed herself.

There were so many ways she could torment herself. An anal plug, perhaps. Nipple clamps. A ball gag, holding her jaw painfully open, muffling her cries and ensuring that she didn’t try to suck her way out of her predicament.

She grinned up at the egg-shell white ceiling. She didn’t need a man to give herself exactly what she craved. The possibilities were endless—and this was just the beginning.

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A NIGHT AT THE OPERA

Elizabeth Coldwell

Jonathan has always hated opera. In every other respect, he’s the perfect husband, but on